


Shifting Sands

by Cumquatmarmalade



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 17:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16539410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumquatmarmalade/pseuds/Cumquatmarmalade
Summary: A first time fic.





	Shifting Sands

The scent of her always hit him first. Familiar and yet dangerous; exotic.

It was a French perfume. Expensive. Delicate and floral. But the undernotes were of spice and sex. It always announced her arrival and sent his pulse rate hammering.

He shook himself. Phryne Fisher had begun to represent to him, all that was forbidden and therefore tempting in every conceivable way. He had to be above these things. He was a policeman; a serious man. He had no time for such distractions.

“Hello Jack.” Yes, the scent of her always hit him first.

“Miss Fisher. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He schooled his features in a well-practised mask of solemn impassivity.

“I’m sure the pleasure is all mine, Jack,” she returned, with the kind of smile that may well have toppled lesser men.

He reserved the mildly flirtatious comebacks that sprang to mind, and instead said nothing, setting his face into an inscrutable gaze as Phryne rounded the corner of his desk and perched provocatively upon it, crossing her legs with a soft rustling of fabric and silk stocking brushing against silk stocking.

Jack suddenly became very interested in the paperwork before him and attempted to avoid the expanse of thigh revealed by the somewhat diaphanous skirt of the dress Phryne was wearing.

Wearing was somewhat overstating it however. The dress clung to her every curve above the waist and hung in gauzy folds around her hips, parting here and there as she shifted to uncross and recross her legs. She wore pale stockings and pink Mary-Janes. Not that he was looking. Not really.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Are you alright Jack?” she asked, as if sensing his unease.

“Yes. Thank you,” he replied, then cleared his throat, unable to keep the huskiness from his tone.

“You sound tired,” she continued.

“I am. A little,” he managed, with a surreptitious sideways glance at her legs.

He closed his eyes, rubbed at them to keep the images at bay. Images of him. And her. Together in ways he didn’t want to be considering with her and his desk in such close proximity.

“Can’t this paperwork wait until tomorrow. Perhaps we could take a little supper together?”

“I thought you were on your way out,” he answered, allowing himself a more thorough study of her gown. Stunning as always in a flurry of pink satin hues. Low cut and tight enough to more than hint at what lay beneath and yet somehow demure. Like her, it promised much.

“I was. But plans change,” she replied. “I’d rather spend this evening with you.”

Her words hung in the air between them. He had a choice to make. Feign the excuse of work or enjoy a night out with someone for whom he had long since developed a deep and lasting affection.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” She blinked. Seemed genuinely surprised.

“I’m famished.”

The word stretched out as long seconds ticked by. _Famished_. A starving man looking towards sustenance. His eyes darted to her red lips and then away again. Dangerous waters.

“We’d best get you fed then,” she replied with a batting of her eyelashes that had his heart hammering in his chest. “Wouldn’t want you wasting away.”

She rose from her perch on his desk and he watched as her skirts swirled and settled against her thighs. She moved to the door of his office.

“Come on Jack,” she smiled back at him.

He rose and shrugged on his overcoat, placed his hat atop his head and followed her from the building.

It was a warm night, the sun shrinking in a glorious orange and pink sunset. Phryne suggested they walk down to the ocean and he agreed, commenting that at least he wouldn’t die in an automobile accident thanks to her driving.

She laughed, the full throated downright filthy laugh that he liked to think she reserved solely for him.

And then the unexpected happened, although with Phryne he should have learnt to expect the unexpected. She reached out and brushed her fingers against his, slowly snagging his hand in hers. Her hand was warm and soft and he said nothing, reacted in no way. Just allowed himself for a few glorious minutes to be at peace with her and imagine that perhaps they were more to each other than colleagues, more than friends.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked as they approached St Kilda pier. She squeezed his hand in a gesture that spoke of such affection, a knot constricted in his chest, making him almost incapable of coherent speech.

“I was pondering many things, Miss Fisher,” he replied enigmatically. He bravely ventured to squeeze her hand in return.

“So formal, Jack and here we are walking hand in hand like sweethearts.”

“Perhaps that was one of the things I was pondering,” he answered.

“There’s a little pastry shop on the corner. Perhaps I can tempt you with something?”

He was hyper aware of her proximity now. As the evening was growing cooler, her thin dress was apparently no protection against the sea breeze and she was walking close beside him, their shoulders bumping from time to time.

They reached the tiny café and went inside as Melbourne turned on its famously fickle weather, and a light rain began to fall.

Phryne dragged him inside and they located a table. Jack ordered a bottle of wine and they each opted for the egg and bacon pie.

Phryne sipped her wine and peered at Jack over the rim of her glass.

“Something troubling you, Miss Fisher?” he asked.

“You really are rather handsome, you know,” she noted, studying him with a practised gaze.

He chuckled but met her eyes; _‘I dare you,’_ he thought.

“And you’ve nothing to say in return?” She was teasing now, the high-pitched lilt in her voice doing things to him that a high pitch lilt shouldn’t do. But he always delighted in her teasing him.

“As you are very well aware,” he began, voice low and intimate, “I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met. But you’re not only beautiful Phryne, you’re clever and kind and funny. You are quite simply, magnificent. Are you blushing?” he laughed.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked, looking away from him, suddenly bashful in a way he had not seen in her before. Did she really not know the extent of his admiration for her?

“Have you ever known me to say anything that I don’t mean?” he countered.

She considered for a moment before a small shake of her head. “Jack I,”-

A waiter arrived and placed their food on the table. And the moment passed.

Jack pondered what it was she might have been going to say. How could he tell her everything that was in his heart? How could he say that he desired her above all things?

Instead, he picked up his knife and fork and began to eat.

“You’re quiet,” Phryne said at last, as the waiter cleared their plates.

“Did I say too much earlier?” he asked.

“Never,” she replied without hesitation. “Sometimes I wish you’d say more. I’m never quite certain what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“And what would happen if I did say more?”

“I don’t know,” she responded honestly. “Something good, I think. I _hope_.”

“Would it help you to know that you drive me to distraction. That each and every moment I spend with you is the most exquisite torture. Would it help our situation for you to know that I want you every minute of every day. And that to not have you almost kills me,” he whispered. “Would it be of use to us, for you to understand that it’s at times, unbearable to be so close to you yet unable to touch you the way I desire. Do you really need to know that try I as I might to conquer these feelings and stay away, I can’t?”

He looked up somewhat sheepishly to find her looking steadily back at him. “I want you too,” she said simply. “Very much.”

He studied her features for any sign of teasing or humour, but she was as serious as he’d ever seen her. And possibly a little nervous too. He allowed a warm, slow smile to lighten his features.

“Then we should probably contemplate what to do about that,” he ventured with growing confidence.

She returned his smile. “We probably should.”

“Perhaps we could start with my escorting you home?” he suggested.

“I think that would be, nice. Very nice,” she added quickly.

Jack rose and paid the bill then guided her out onto the street. The rain had stopped but the night had turned cold, with an icy wind blowing in from the ocean. Phryne’s skirts billowed and she shivered slightly in the night air.

Jack shrugged off his overcoat and placed it around Phryne’s shoulders, gently squeezing her upper arms as he did so.

“Thank you,” she said, wrapping the coat more closely around herself and inhaling the deliciously familiar scent of him.

Jack hailed a passing taxi and gave the driver Phryne’s address. He settled back in the seat and his heart began to hammer as Phryne rested her head on his shoulder and settled her hand on his thigh.

“Phryne,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea at this point.”

She moved her hand higher. “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” she whispered, before pressing a soft kiss against his cheek.

“Sometimes I think you were sent to torture me,” he breathed into her hair.

“Oh Jack,” she smiled, “we’ve not even begun.”

Jack closed his eyes as the last of his resolve ebbed away. He buried his hand in her black tresses and dragged her lips to his, kissing her with long pent up passion.

She returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, nipping at his lower lip, before opening her mouth to slide her tongue against his.

The taxi driver clearing his throat saw them break somewhat reluctantly apart but Phryne continued to rest her hand on his leg, occasionally stroking her hand along his thigh and making parts of his anatomy twitch in response.

By the time the taxi pulled up outside 221B The Esplanade, Phryne had successfully loosened Jack’s tie and Jack had managed to insinuate his hand beneath the handkerchief folds of her dress, to stroke long fingers against her skin, where silk stocking met bare flesh. His actions were well hidden from the driver by his overcoat lying across her lap, but Phryne was barely able to stifle the moans that longed to escape her throat.

They raced up the garden path to her door, Jack pushing her softly against it and peppering kisses along her jaw and throat.

She sighed his name against his neck and began to fumble through her purse for her house key.

“Shhh,” she giggled, “the last thing we need is to wake Mr Butler.”

“Right now, Mr Butler could _watch_ and I don’t think I’d care,” Jack breathed with a wry chuckle.

“Jack Robinson!” she teased and then they were through the door and Jack once more pushed her against it, his hands fisting into her hair and his mouth seeking hers, hot and hard. His body pressed intimately against hers and she rutted against him, desperate for more.

When he pulled away, her lipstick was all but gone, her eyes black, glassy pools of longing, and her breathing heavy and rapid.

They tumbled their way upstairs, stopping at regular intervals to touch or kiss or caress. Phryne caught Jack by the tie and dragged him into her bedroom. He kicked the door closed behind him and she giggled, before pulling him close, her arms tight about his neck and her mouth open and wet against his.

“God, how I want you,” he breathed, moving close behind her, his hands sliding along the satiny smooth material of her dress, along her hips, moving upwards to gently cup and squeeze her breasts as he had longed to do so many times.

She gasped and arched into his palms.

“Liked that did you?” he whispered, against her ear.

“God yes,” she replied.

He repeated the action with somewhat more confidence and enjoyed a moan of desire for his efforts.

She twisted around to quickly push the jacket from his shoulders. It fell to the floor with an audible thwump. She unbuttoned his waistcoat between heated kisses, and the very distracting touch of his long fingers beneath the fabric of her skirt as he hiked the material higher and higher in his quest to touch the most intimate parts of her.

She keened as his fingers pressed along the seam of her satin knickers. Her hand grasped his wrist, pulling him away. She smiled at him.

“I want you naked,” she all but purred.

“Likewise, Miss Fisher,” he replied, eyeing her somewhat like he might assess one of his murder suspects. “Now if I could just work out how to get you out of this gown,”-

She laughed, deep and throaty. “There are little hook and eye clasps down this side.” She raised her arm and indicated the row of tiny clasps running from armpit to waist.

Jack raised his hands to her skin and Phryne giggled and twisted away.

“You’re ticklish?” he noted.

“A bit,” she confessed.

“Oh, I’m storing that information for later,” he replied and then made very short work of the hooks and clasps on her dress, pulling it from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor in soft fabric waves.

He stepped back, and his eyes raked over her underwear clad form.

She made to move towards him.

“Wait,” he said, advancing on her and tracing the exposed skin of her stomach and ribs with the tips of his fingers. The touch was infuriatingly light, but she stood her ground, eyes closed, revelling in the sensations he elicited.

“For god’s sake, kiss me,” she all but begged.

He continued his maddening touch as she reached out and undid the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open to reveal the underwear beneath. His mouth sought hers as she slowly pulled the shirt down his arms. He removed his hands from her skin just long enough for her to drag the shirt from him. As he returned to kissing her, his hands found the clasp to her brassiere and he undid it assuredly, steering her towards her bed.

“You’re still wearing far too much,” she said. “You should deal with that. Excuse me for a moment.”

She skipped out of his reach and headed for her bathroom and Jack sat on the edge of her bed, taking deep breaths and wiping sweating palms against his trousers.

He removed shoes and socks and sat waiting.

Minutes later the waft of her perfume struck him as it always did, but this time things were vastly different. No longer was this the waking dream. This was real. This was happening.

She wore her silver-grey robe and, he realised as she advanced on him, nothing else.

“Cold feet?” she asked, her face suddenly concerned.

“No. That is, I don’t think so,” he replied.

She sat beside him and took his hand in hers raising the knuckles to her lips and kissing them. “We don’t have to do this,” she said, but she looked sad.

“I want this,” he said quickly. “But what if?”-

“Don’t,” she said, cutting him off quickly. “Jack, you are, and have always been, the person I rely on and trust with my life. And I trust you now. In this moment, to be everything I want. It doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect. It only matters that it’s us. At long last. It’s us.”

She reached out and cupped his cheek in her hand, turning his head to hers and pressing the gentlest of kisses against his mouth.

It felt as if she had ignited some flame deep within him and he pulled her closer, dragging her onto his lap and winding his arms around her waist as her hands draped around his neck and her lips opened to allow his kisses to deepen.

She wriggled restlessly in his lap, feeling the hardening of him beneath her thigh. Her robe had fallen open and Jack shifted their position so that he could kiss along her throat and collarbone, moving lower and lower with agonising slowness.

Phryne arched against his tongue, her body quaking as he lavished attention against her breasts.

Jack reached for the tie of her robe, pulling it undone with painstaking slowness. Phryne continued to kiss his neck and along his jaw as he worked.

“Hurry,” she breathed against his ear.

“Oh, I’m in no hurry,” he replied. “After all, we have all night.” His fingers brushed lightly along her inner thighs, moving maddeningly close to where she most needed him then skittering away once more.

“And the next night. And the next.” She fell back onto the bed and he rose over her, wanting to touch and kiss every part of her all at once. Wanting to be inside her; to be one with her.

“That sounds quite a lot like a commitment, Miss Fisher,” Jack said, slowly kissing down her body.

She arched and moaned. “Yes it does, Jack. Yes it does.”

\----

A faint breeze stirred the curtains casting sunlight into the bedroom in flickering shards.

Jack blinked slowly awake and took in his surroundings. Her room. Her bed. Her.

Memories of their night flooded back. A seemingly endless, erotic dance with each one leading and each allowing the other to lead in turn. He smiled and rolled over in the bed to watch the mass of raven hair, adorably mussed with sleep and sex.

The figure groaned and stretched languidly. “S’too early to be awake,” she mumbled.

“It’s after nine, Miss Fisher,” Jack reproached playfully.

“Can’t we spend the day here in bed?” she asked.

“Some of us have to work, and I fear I’m already late.”

She grumbled delightfully. “But I don’t want you to go.”

She turned towards him, her face bereft of makeup, her skin pale but flushed. She pouted at him.

He leaned in and kissed her. It was intended as a peck before he had to leave but her arms and then her legs wound around him and he reacted as he always did when she was near.

She was completely irresistible. She had never been more beautiful. And he was only human after all…

 


End file.
